


Absentia

by id_shade



Series: Lost and Unfound [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dystopia, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Sexual Violence, Talk of Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1950075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_shade/pseuds/id_shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world changed. Scott finds Stiles in the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so my id account has become the All Stiles Whump All The Time Channel. Not sure how I feel about that- BUT HEY LOOK I'VE GOT A BINGO CARD NOW. http://id-shade.dreamwidth.org/701.html#cutid1
> 
> I'm splitting this into two parts, because it's running long. If you've got comments, leave em'. For every comment you leave I am that much closer to actually finishing this fic rather than forgetting it exists and doing something more practical with my day instead.

The place was a literal hole in the wall. It was in the city, right at the heart of it where the streets had been hit worst by the uprising. The door was gone from what had once been the back entrance to a strip mall. Where it had been, there was a piece of fence, bolted to charred walls and framed by blinking Christmas lights. The gate was open right now and people were swarming in and out. A bunch of unpleasant-looking types. Most of them appeared to be intoxicated, and none of them were human. They were loud, too. Scott was picking out all sorts of unsavory conversation over the driving thud of the music inside.

Scott glanced once more at his scribbled instructions, though there was no point. This had to be the place. He climbed out of Stiles’ old jeep and made his way toward the entrance.

Inside there was dancing. Lights were flashing, alcohol was being served. Scott didn’t see any sign of what he had been told went on here, though. “Excuse me,” said Scott, flagging down a bartender and raising his voice over the music. “Where can I find…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “You know…”

The bartender raised an eyebrow then smiled suddenly, flashing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Try downstairs,” he said, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Have fun.”

Scott doubted he would. His heart was presently pounding, and his nerves were wracked. He went in the direction the bartender had indicated anyway. He took the stairs down, passing a burly wendigo on the landing. There were too many smells to pick out the particulars, but Scott couldn’t miss the stink of sex on him.

Downstairs, the walls were bare concrete,draped with various fabrics here and there. There wasn’t much to see aside from a woman at a podium in front of a hallway. She was seated on a velvet-draped stool and doodling on a notepad. “What’s your pleasure, sweetheart?” she asked without looking up.

Scott took the folded picture from his pocket and tried to hand it over with more self-assurance than he currently felt.

The woman raised her eyes, and Scott unfolded it. She didn’t take the picture but did regard it with a thoughtful frown, using her pen to scratch at the dull blue scales near her hairline. “So… teenage boys? We’ve got plenty of th-”

“No,” Scott cut her off. “I’m looking for him. The picture is from…” Every time Scott did the math in his head for this, it didn’t seem right. “About three years ago.”

“What? A nineteen, twenty-something? We’ve got those, too.” The woman was smiling, though. She didn’t seem surprised he was here looking for someone. Plenty of supernatural people had human friends or family they’d lost track of. Anyone who ended up here hadn’t exactly done so by choice. She took the picture from him and took a good look at it this time, narrowing her eyes. “Three years, you said?”

“Three and a half,” Scott amended, thinking back to the last time he’d seen Stiles, the night before both he and his dad had been snatched from the street.

“He family?” asked the woman, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

Humans who were family to the supernatural had never been officially rounded up. Not that they didn’t still go missing.

Scott nodded.

The woman snorted; looked at the picture again, then back to Scott, doubtfully.

“Is he here or not?” Scott snapped, vaguely aware his eyes had just shifted to red. His heart was still hammering in his chest. He couldn’t help it.

Seeing his eyes, the woman seemed to sit up a little straighter. “Sorry,” she said and held the picture back out to him. “Haven’t seen him.”

The tightness in Scott’s chest eased some, both with familiar disappointment and relief. He’d give anything to find Stiles, but, God, not here. He nodded and reached for the picture again only to have her snatch it back.

“Wait.” She looked at the picture again. “Geez. Duh. Yeah, I know him.”

Scott stared at her, his heart pounding again, double-time. “You do?”

She nodded. “You want to buy him back?”

Scott was nodding before she’d even finished the question.

She pulled a ledger out from under the podium. “I’ll have to consult with my boss, but-”

“Let me see him.”

The woman rose from her stool. “Let me get my boss.”

“Let me see him,” Scott repeated, the words becoming a growl.

The woman tensed and a large man, presumably, a bodyguard seemed to melt out of the shadows. The woman quickly raised her hand to still him. “Fine,” she said to Scott and turned to lead him down the hallway.

The hallway wasn’t actually a hallway. Most likely it was all one big room. It had just been sectioned into little cubicles separated by red curtains hanging from lengths of wire. There were sounds from inside and smells. Scott tried to block it out, scared one of them might be familiar. The woman stopped at a cubicle near the end and held up a finger, indicating Scott should wait. She pulled the curtain back just slightly and peered in. “He’s busy,” she said to Scott, closing it back. “Wait out here a minute.”

Scott stared at the piece of fabric in front of him and what it meant if it was all that was separating him from Stiles. “Is he in there?”

“Yeah, but-”

Scott flung the curtain aside and went in. There was a rickety-looking, metal-framed twin bed in the corner. Stiles was on it, on his knees, hands on the banister and eyes on the floor. Someone was fucking him; a werewolf, a transformed one.

At the movement of the curtain, Stiles looked up. He looked annoyed at first, then his expression changed. His eyes focused in on Scott and went wide. Scott smelled it then; relief, utter humiliation, a sudden rush of anxiety. It hit him suddenly, the first emotions he got from Stiles.

Stiles tried to get up, but the werewolf grabbed the back of his head and shoved him down. Stiles gritted his teeth and reached backwards, trying to shove the werewolf’s hips back while contorting his body away. There was a collar and a chain around Stiles’ neck. Scott saw the werewolf pull it to stop Stiles’ struggling, thrusting harder. “Get the fuck out of here,” said the werewolf, glaring at Scott.

Scott attacked. Instinct drove him in a blur of fang and teeth and fists. The other werewolf was big but no alpha. His eyes flashed blue as Scott wrestled him down to the floor.

“Scott!”

It was Stiles’ voice that gave Scott pause. He looked up. The woman was still near the curtain, but the bodyguard had joined her, electricity jumping from the rod in his hand. Before they could intervene, Scott reached into his jacket. He removed the roll of money he had stashed there and threw it at the woman’s feet. “That’s half,” he said, still restraining the werewolf beneath him as the woman leaned down to pick it up.

She removed the rubber-band, and thumbed through the stack. Her eyes moved to Scott then back to the bodyguard. She whispered something to him, and he stepped forward. Scott tensed to fight, but he grabbed the other werewolf instead. He yanked the werewolf to his feet with inhuman strength, and forcibly led him from the cubicle.

“I wasn’t finished!” slurred the werewolf through a mouthful of blood.

“You’ll get your money back,” said the woman. She took a bill off the top of the stack and stuffed it in his front pocket as he went by. “A little extra for damages, eh?” She smiled at him then turned a more serious expression on Scott.

“I’ll get you the other half once we’re out of here,” said Scott, but the woman just shook her head.

“I’ve gotta talk to my boss. Wait here.” She yanked the curtain back. Scott could hear her exchanging a few words with clients as she left but not many. Commotion must have been pretty common place.

Scott looked back to Stiles. Already, he’d pulled his pants back on. Now he was sitting on the bed, shoulders slouched, hands clasped between his knees, staring at Scott. He was different. A lot different. Scott could see why the woman hadn’t recognized him at first. He looked a little like he had when possessed by the Nogitsune; pale, tired. He was thinner,the bones beneath his skin pronounced, making his body seem more angular. The skin itself had a patchwork of scars here in there; gouges and circular-looking scars Scott didn’t take the time to place.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask something. He seemed to lose his voice when he tried to speak. He tried a second time. “Is everyone-” he began but, again, couldn’t finish.

“All right?” asked Scott and when Stiles nodded, he nodded back. “Yeah. We’ve got your dad. He’s safe. Malia, Lydia, everyone. Everyone’s fine. We just-” Scott couldn’t find his own voice now. He closed the distance between himself and Stiles and hugged him. Stiles tensed and stayed that way, his arms tight around Scott’s back. They stayed like that until the woman returned.

It was only then that Scott remembered he had to call Derek and make arrangements. Money wasn’t an issue, but Scott didn’t trust these people to just let him waltz out the front door. He wasn’t exactly a regular. If anything, he’d be happy to see the place burn to the ground. The promise of more money would probably keep them safe, but it’d take Derek at least a day to make it down here. Scott hadn’t exactly planned on finding Stiles, not after three years.

Scott dialed Derek. “I found Stiles.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds. “Is he all right?”

“Yes,” said Scott, haltingly, then, “I don’t know.”

“You’re staying here until your friend comes with the other half of the money,” said the woman, her tone implying there was no room for negotiation there.

Scott took issue with it anyway. “We’re leaving,” he said. He motioned to the bodyguard who had reappeared behind the woman. “Send someone with us if you have to, but we’re getting out of here.”

“Scott.” Stiles had put a hand on Scott’s arm. Scott turned to look at him. Stiles shook his head marginally and looked down at the floor.

“We’ll put you up somewhere nice,” said the woman with a smile and a shrug.

Scott made arrangements with Derek. He’d call when he was close. They’d meet with the money, not here but somewhere they’d decide on later. The woman said her boss would be amenable to that.

“Let me show you to your room,” she said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so didn't mean for this to take as long as it did. I had it half written the day I posted the first part. Something monumentally bad happened in my personal life, though. Everything sort of went on pause for that until recently.
> 
> Last night I finished this up, though. So yay. I'm not sure if I'll leave things here or add another chapter or another part in a series. We'll see.

Stiles kept his eyes on the floor as he was unchained from the wall. They left the collar on. Scott was about to say something, but Stiles anticipated that and cut him off. “It’s fine,” he said. Scott didn’t think _any_ of this was fine. He kept his mouth shut anyway.

Stiles grabbed some fabric from the floor. His shirt, Scott assumed, though he wasn’t putting it on. The pants he was wearing were slick and form-fitting. The shirt was unlikely to be much better, and embarrassment was already rolling off Stiles in waves. Scott shrugged off his jacket and offered him that. Stiles nodded his thanks and pulled it on.

They were led further downstairs by someone new. Scott stopped every few steps, not much liking the idea of being trapped underground in a place like this. Stiles’ hand touched his back every time he slowed, prompting him on while mouthing reassurances. ‘Go.’ ‘It’s fine.’ ‘Go on.’

The stairs led down to a network of tunnels; all gray concrete and damp. Their escort led them down a hallway lined with doors. He looked at each one, muttering to himself and glancing at his watch. The echoing of a gunshot from somewhere in the tunnels barely gave him pause. Stiles, meanwhile, inhaled sharply, body going rigid. Scott was about to ask about the gunshot when a door was opened.

“Here,” said their escort. “This one’s empty. Should be clean, too.” He motioned them in. “Sweet dreams.”

Stiles entered the room immediately, and Scott stayed close behind him. The door was shut, plunging them into darkness. Scott heard some fumbling on the other side of the door. He didn’t need to try the handle to know they’d been locked in.

“Stiles?”

“Hang on.” Stiles flipped the light on.

The room wasn’t as bad as Scott had expected. There was red carpet and an armchair, a plush-looking four-poster bed. There were no windows, of course, but there was a second door. It led to a bathroom.

“You pay more, to come here,” Stiles explained, standing in the center of the room, watching Scott inspect the bathroom. “I wouldn’t call it high class or anything, but it’s definitely classier than the alternative.” Stiles cracked an awkward smile and made a point to look around the room, anywhere but at Scott.

“So, you…” began Scott, trailing off in the end, unable to actually say out loud what it was Stiles had been forced to do here.

“No,” said Stiles, quickly. “I did when I first got here, but no. These rooms are mostly for… um-” Stiles toyed with his collar, rotating it idly. “They’re not for me. I’m mostly upstairs. I used to be down here a lot. Now it’s just sometimes.” Stiles ventured a strained smile again, stretching his neck, slowly spinning the collar. “You paid too much for me.”

“Do you want that off?” Scott indicated the collar, feeling awkward himself. It felt wrong. Things being this weird with Stiles. It had been three and a half years. He should have anticipated the awkwardness, but hadn’t.

Stiles looked confused for a moment then let go of the collar abruptly. “What? No. No, it doesn’t come off.”

“It doesn’t come off?” Scott repeated, taking a few steps closer. He stopped when Stiles took a step back.

Stiles clenched his hands and rolled his eyes at himself, annoyed. He went to Scott, pointedly, and twisted the collar around to the front so he could see the aged metal and the lock. “I don’t think they have the key. The owners had a lot of them. I’ve never seen a key. Once I saw them cut a girls’ off, but, ah,-” Stiles went very still as Scott reached for the collar.

The collar was loose enough to slip a finger or two under, but the skin was discolored; worn raw but tough, like a ring of scar tissue. “Does it hurt?” asked Scott, though his fingers were against Stiles’ skin. He could feel it already; not a sharp pain, but a dull and steady ache.

Stiles’ swallowed. Hesitantly, he pushed Scott’s hand away and took a step back again. “Sometimes it gets infected or they put it on too tight and the skin… uh… You get used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to get used to it.”

Stiles only shrugged, eyes downcast again. Scott reached for his arm, but he stepped away. “Do you care if I take a shower?”

Scott shook his head and watched Stiles walk to the bathroom and hesitate at the door. “So everyone’s all right?” he asked, picking at some splintered wood near the doorjamb.

“Everyone’s fine… Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“What was that gunshot? Out there in the hall.” Stiles shook his head. There was an ugly change in his emotions that Scott could smell. Scott changed the subject. “Everyone’s as well as they can be, I guess. A lot’s happened.” Scott sat down outside the bathroom door and filled Stiles in while the shower ran.

The Sheriff was - well, not a sheriff anymore, but focused, determined, responsible for a lot of good. Organizing people, planning things. He was drinking too much again, but Scott left that part out.

Lydia and Malia were closer now. For several months, they’d been on the road together, exclusively looking for Stiles. There was a lot going on, though. Not that they’d ever really stopped searching. It was because of them that Scott had followed the lead that took him here - the last of many.

“I never stopped looking either,” Scott said, partly to himself. He felt guilty, less euphoric than he had imagined feeling on a day like today. He felt guilty it had taken this long. Guilty they’d all gotten discouraged over the years and let searching for Stiles slip further and further down their list of priorities. “Do you want to talk to anyone? After you get out of the shower, I mean.” Scott took out his phone, checking that he still had signal. He fumbled as he put it back in his pocket. He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure if Derek’s told them all or if I should… Everyone’ll be really glad to see you. Like, really, really glad.”

Scott looked around the room, noting again the lack of windows and heavy, locked door. “We’ll get out of here soon,” he said, reassuring himself, mostly. He was thinking on just who to call first and what the hell he would say to them, when a thud caught his attention, dull but violent. Scott’s ears pricked. He focused in and heard it again, someone hitting a wall. He heard Stiles’ breathing too, faster, panicked. He was already moving, rushing into the bathroom. It was full of steam, but the curtain was clear. Scott pushed past it and caught Stiles by the shoulders as he dropped to his knees. Scott went with him, the spray from the shower going from his back, up to soak his hair.

“Stiles,” said Scott, moving his hands from his shoulders to take his friend’s face in his hands.

Stiles was shaking his head. He grabbed Scott’s wrists but didn’t push him away. “I can’t. I-I’m not,” Stiles stammered, eyes wild.

“Not what?” asked Scott, hands firm, making an effort to meet his gaze.

“Going back.” The mere mention of it made Stiles shudder and struggle to take another breath.

Scott put one arm around Stiles. With the other, he reached behind himself and cut off the water. “Hey,” he said, trying to keep his own anxiety out of his voice. “Breathe.” He pushed the curtain back further and immediately felt the cool air coming in through the open door. “Why-” he began but stopped when Stiles tensed. “Okay,” he said quickly instead. “Okay. It’s fine. Just breathe.”

They stayed like that for a while; Stiles shaking, crying maybe. It was hard to tell with them both soaked.

Finally, Stiles seemed to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he said, pulling back from Scott. “I haven’t had a panic attack in a while. I don’t know why…” He trailed off.

Scott watched Stiles for a moment before realizing the awkward reality of their current situation. Not that he hadn’t seen Stiles naked in the school locker room. That didn’t make things any less weird. He must have looked uncomfortable when he averted his eyes, because that earned him a mirthless laugh from Stiles.

“It’s fine,” said Stiles. “I don’t think it can get much worse than what you saw earlier.”

Scott grabbed him a towel anyway - and one for himself when he realized he was pretty soaked, too. He spent some time trying, pretty ineffectually, to soak the water up from his damp clothes. He distracted himself with that until Stiles spoke up again.

“I just can’t Scott,” said Stiles. He’d pulled the same pants back on and was turning Scott’s jacket over and over in his hands.

“Can’t what?” asked Scott, even though he knew.

Stiles looked past Scott, to the bathroom door. “I can’t go back there… Like this.”

Scott looked Stiles over again, _really_ looked this time. Again, he noted the weight he’d lost, the scars; with dull surprise, he noted what looked to be track marks on his arms. ‘No one will care,’ he wanted to say, but that would be a lie. Instead he said, “We don’t have to go home.”

“We?” Stiles repeated, one eyebrow raising, skeptically.

Scott hadn’t really given it a ton of thought, but- “Yeah.” He nodded. “Once we’re out of here, I won’t… I can’t just leave you. I don’t know where we’ll go, but… We’ll figure something out.”

Stiles still looked doubtful. “Everyone else-”

“Everyone else will call if they really need my help. And then I’d have to go back… And I’d think you would come too, if they were in trouble. But, until then…” Scott couldn’t think of anything urgent he needed to attend to, nothing more important than this.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, maybe a thank you. Scott was relieved when he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he’d feel comfortable with that. Instead, Stiles left the bathroom. Scott followed him, watched him take a seat on the edge of the bed. Scott started to sit too but hesitated. Stiles noticed and smirked.

“I know it’s weird.” Stiles swung his legs up, leaning back against the headboard, making himself comfortable. “Sit down. It’s fine.”

Scott did; on the edge of the bed at first, then he made himself more comfortable, too. There was some awkward silence then. Scott had a million questions, but none of them really felt appropriate.

“Is my dad really okay?” Stiles asked after a while.

“Mostly,” said Scott. “I know it really frustrated him that he couldn’t go out and look for you himself. He can’t really travel around asking questions, though. Not as a human.”

“When they grabbed us, he blamed himself.” Stiles glanced over at Scott, as if to gauge how much he already knew before continuing. “We hadn’t been back to the house. There wasn’t anything we couldn’t live without, but there was sentimental stuff, like old pictures. It was his idea, and I wasn’t going to let him go alone. And if he hadn’t gone then, I probably would have later. It wasn’t his fault. It’s not his fault the world’s messed up.”

Scott nodded vaguely in agreement but didn’t say anything. Stiles looked like he had more on his mind; three and a half years worth of things that Scott was afraid to hear but felt like he needed to know.

“There was a lot of moving around. I’d thought they just drove you out away from everything else. You know? Out to the woods, where you can be hunted. There were a lot of stops, though. _A lot_. It wasn’t organized or anything. People would just approach the bus when they made a stop and drop more people off or take people off the bus, and… They took me off the bus twice. The second time, they lined me up with a few others. They paid for me, another guy, and three girls.” Stiles exhaled shakily. “I don’t want you to think that I just… They sold me and the guy and this one other girl here, and when I figured out what for… It’s not like I…” He wrung his hands, fingers rubbing anxiously over his joints. He looked at the ceiling, thinking, trying to rationalize everything. Finally, he shrugged. “I gave up,” he said simply.

Scott sat up a little straighter. “Stiles-” he began, about to launch into an apology before being cut off.

“It’s not like I’m your responsibility. You can’t protect everyone.”

“You’re my best friend. I should have-”

“It’s fine.” Stiles interrupted him again, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it, a gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring. It was. “Well, I guess it’s not fine, but it’s not your fault either. When I said I gave up… I don’t mean…” Stiles dropped his hand from Scott’s shoulder and looked away again.

“Don’t mean what?” prompted Scott, quietly.

“They didn’t just start us with customers.” Stiles’ words had a halting rhythm to them, like he couldn’t figure out how to explain it or was too embarrassed to. “They took all three of us out to this room. It’s a ways down the hall, near where we sleep. Not like this. Kind of like. I dunno. A lounge, I guess.” He swallowed, pausing before trying to get the story back on track. “It was our first night here, and they took all three of us. They stripped us down, and…” Stiles cut his eyes to Scott who was doing his best to stay calm and just listen. He could smell that Stiles was embarrassed. Not upset relaying the story. He was past that. He was just ashamed, maybe because of who he was relaying it to.

“We were all fighting back at first,” Stiles explained. “They were strong, but we didn’t make it easy for them. I mean, someone tells you you’re gonna be a whore from now on, that kind of seems like something they’ll need your cooperation for, and we weren’t going to give it. But then, the other guy that was with us, one of them snapped his neck. He just snapped it out of frustration, as an example. It could have just as easily have been me.”

“That’s not the same as giving up. At all,” said Scott, but it didn’t earn much of a reaction from Stiles.

“Lots of clients tend to bite or scratch. It’s really not uncommon for one to try and cannibalize you.” Stiles grimaced and rubbed absently at a particularly thick patch of scar tissue at his shoulder. “Wendigos suck. The worst are werewolves, though. No offense. Were-anything, honestly. Anything that can transform you. That’s what happened to the girl who came in with me. She got bit. If you’re suddenly supernatural that complicates things, so before you transform.” Stiles made a gun with his hand and fired it at the wall. “That’s what the sound you heard earlier was. A guy got bit yesterday. Trey. I’m not positive that’s what it was, but… I’m pretty sure.”

Scott stood up. He was at the door before he realized it was locked. “How many other humans here are there?” He asked, pushing against the door, testing the undeniable sturdiness of it.

“A lot,” said Stiles, shortly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” Scott shot back. He saw Stiles wince and turn away from him, shoving one arm under a pillow as he laid down on his side, back to Scott.

It took him a second, but Scott realized what Stiles had meant about giving up. Somehow, that seemed worse than everything else before now. Scott went back to the bed. “There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

“I know,” muttered Stiles, into the pillow. “That’s sort of the problem, isn’t it?”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I can’t help it… Everything about this… I feel useless.”

Stiles raised his head and looked over his shoulder, giving Scott a weak smile. “That actually makes me feel a little better, kinda.”

“I don’t know why.”

“Get some sleep, man.”

Scott did. Or tried to. He climbed into bed, still damp from the shower. He pulled out his phone, made sure it was still working, that nothing had gone wrong. Scott watched the door. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t think Stiles did either. They just laid there like that, back to back, for the rest of the night.


End file.
